don't get caught little blurry yellow worms had eaten soft edged holes in his dusty violin. but you can't fake playing the violin i can't wait anymore, and i think i know what's happened my imagination is no longer self sufficient i've given them characters they can't live up to and don't appreciate at first i was angry but now that i remember my first stories i can see that these new characters are weak far too distinct and tangible not like the mud monster of age 9, before bed and in the bathtub-- i remember his dull low pulse shimmered on his skin, it was like watching an earthquake from the moon. he loved me so much and i was so scared of him because he was unfamiliar when we said goodbye i told him i wasn't sure if i loved him or if i wanted protection from the envious fairies, the only noble thing i could do was leave he understood i cried |